


Hope and Healing

by allonsytotumblr



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Developing Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 03:47:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2493305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsytotumblr/pseuds/allonsytotumblr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The closest thing to Brandir and Niniel fluff that has ever been written.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hope and Healing

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to tumblr user theserpentsadvocate. Thanks to fanfiction.net beta, OneSizeFitsAll.

It is past midnight when he awakens.

It was Níniel's cry that woke Brandir. She cries out again, her sleeping form twisting the bed clothes. Cursing his slowness, he rises, crossing the room to sit on the edge of her cot. She must be having one of her nightmares. The storm outside must trouble her; she was found, dying, on the night of such a storm as this. Maybe, in the darkness of sleep, the evil that took her speech and memory stalks her still.

Níniel weeps softly, her sobs a pathetic sound against the tempest outside. Her face is so pale, so childlike in the dim light. He should fetch Túrin, then she would sleep peacefully...something which he does not understand; Túrin's presence is not a soothing one...but it is so late, and, well - Brandir is the healer, not Túrin.

Recalling some memory from his childhood, he reaches out his arm and places it around her shoulders, pulling her closer until her head rests lightly on his chest. Then he begins to sing: some lullaby he can remember from childhood. The words are elvish and, though he doesn't know the meanings of most, they are lovely all the same. Eventually Níniel becomes quiet and her breathing becomes more rhythmic. Of course the reasons for this have more to do with the touch and voice of another than with Brandir personally, yet he can not help but feel satisfied as he settles her back down on the cot.

Gazing at her sleeping face, his thoughts turn to Túrin. He seems to be here almost every day, underfoot until the leech-women turn him out. Brandir wonders if it is more than concern for his foundling that draws him. Has he noticed how beautiful she is, even in illness? For some strange reason, Brandir hopes he has not; but how can it have escaped his notice...she is lovely. Of course Túrin has every right to have whatever feelings he chooses towards this woman and it is not his affair, Brandir tells himself sternly.

Outside, the tempest blows itself into nothingness and the moon emerges, full and luminous, from behind the clouds, its brightness coming through the windows of his house, washing everything with silver light. Níniel stirs and, looking up at Brandir...who remains by her, to make sure she rests untroubled...her blue eyes tracing his face in the near dawn gloom, whispers "Turambar?", the name Túrin is called and the only word she knows.

"Brandir," he answers, pointing to himself and hoping she will pick up the meaning of his word. She seems to recognize his name, at least, and, looking contented, sleeps again. As dawn comes and the sun thrusts its bright rays over the horizon, chasing away the shadows of night, it seems to bring hope with it as well. This maid of tears shall come out of her darkness and into the light of healing, and when she does, it is he, Brandir, that will be by her side.


End file.
